Reaching Out In Darkness
by CrystalShardsOfRain
Summary: She left the mountain in search of a moon once spoken of between caged whispers and crinkled smiles. She did not return to Mirkwood again. She walked amid starlight; she walked in a world where a Dwarf had claimed her heart.


_A mighty pain to love it is,  
and 'tis a pain that pain to miss,  
But of all pains, the greatest pain  
It is to love, but love in vain.  
~ Abraham Cowley_

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The chamber was dark. Shadows stretched across weathered stone in wide patches of blackness. Candlelight wavered iridescently in the distance, flickering across stone and pillar, weak and bright like a distant, dying star. Puddles of light traversed the war-worn earth, crawling through the darkness toward an arched doorway. A peculiar gathering began to enter the cavern from the east entrance, rustling and crinkling like leaves; their garments were dull and dented from battle. A small battalion of Dwarves, grim-faced and haggard, walked solemnly ahead of a group of Elves.

Tauriel, staring blankly ahead into the blackness, walked lightly across the ground. She had been listening to the resonance of her feet in an attempt to stall the sadness within her heart. The mountain was screaming at her; each footfall sliced through the air and struck the ground purposefully. The silence of her brethren hung within the air like a sickness. She knew better than to speak out loud. She could only hear her footsteps.

Legolas walked beside her. His fingers danced across the wooden arch of his bow as if he were playing a musical instrument. He was pensive. She could see it in his eyes within the blackness of the cavern, a hidden animosity that only she could fathom. His gaze was scrutinizing; he stared at each stony crevice and fissure blandly, seeking flaws that lingered beneath the surface of the mountain. She knew he was suffocating. He didn't like the damp walls of Erebor. He wanted to walk through Mirkwood again.

Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, walked rigidly in front of both Tauriel and Legolas, his back stiff and unyielding. He wasn't impressed. His walked stoutly through the chamber, embracing the darkness as if it had become a long-lost acquaintance. Tauriel wanted her King to concede to the blackness; grief filled the air, sticky and contagious like the flu. He wouldn't yield. Thranduil was too proud and too stately in his process. He was like a flame, hot and abrasive when need be, but cold and icy like a mountain when he donned his crown.

The Dwarves lingered a little way ahead, trekking through the twisted halls of Erebor knowledgably. They knew their way across each sculpted hall and chamber. She admired their dedication. They loved the Lonely Mountain; she wished Mirkwood had grasped her heart as easily as Erebor had ensnared the Dwarves.

Balin, white hair gleaming like polished silver, marched forlornly through the hall. She had only spoken to him for a moment. He had asked her to come to Erebor. His eyes had been sad that day, filled with grief and desolation.

Her heart sunk further behind her rib cage.

The Battle of Five Armies had entangled the mountain in combat; she could still recall the tremor of footfall reverberating through the ground. She had wandered aimlessly amid savagery and violence, trapped within a stupor wrought from fatigue and despair. The cacophony continued to hold her heart in place; she could not traverse Erebor without pondering the consequences of what had occurred beyond the Lonely Mountain.

As she watched Balin saunter ahead of his Dwarven Company, she knew that grief weighed down upon his shoulders like an illness. He slumped forward like a sack of potatoes, dragging his feet across the ground half-heartedly. He was a wise Dwarf; he had attempted to coerce Thorin from his irrational stupor. He had taken it upon himself to lead his Dwarven companions, acting as an ambassador between the Elves and the Men. It had not been enough.

Tauriel lowered her head. She felt as immobilized as he did; her heart dangled within her chest on the cusp of collapsing. Balin had permitted her entrance into Erebor in an attempt to cease the enmity lingering between the Elves and the Dwarves.

Thorin's death had united the public; Dale was in the process of reconstruction. Esgaroth, burned into pieces of tinder, had blazed incandescently for days. The citizens of Lake Town were finally beginning to rebuild and salvage what remained amid the destruction. Thranduil had sent aid from Mirkwood; Woodland Elves wandered through Lake Town in an attempt to provide assistance. Dain Ironfoot, appointed King under the Mountain after Thorin's demise, had gifted the people of Esgaroth with a share of Smaug's gold. Thorin's actions had been temporarily forgotten.

Tauriel could not forget. The heaviness in her heart increased as she ambled through the cavern. She knew what loomed ahead amid the blackness. The procession of Dwarves, Thorin's original Company of thirteen, marched solemnly toward an extravagant, vaulted gate. She had been told amid the morning air that Thorin's resting place dwelled deep within Erebor.

Balin, staring profoundly into her face, had expressed the sentimentality of burying a King among his ancestors. He wanted her to know that Fili and Kili would rest along side Thorin in death, for they had fought valiantly.

The gate rose before Tauriel ominously. The Dwarves, humming a mournful tune of woe and misery, slowly began to pull open the arched entrance. Legolas could sense her unease as he wandered beside her. She watched him glance at her fervently, his icy gaze filled with an emotion akin to apprehension. She knew that he worried for her. He did not understand her compassion for the Dwarves, for he had adopted a façade reminiscent of Thranduil's temperament. Tauriel knew that Legolas had decided to journey to Erebor out of obligation; he respected Thorin and his kin. She hoped he would come to understand the Dwarves in due time.

The vaulted gate opened, revealing a vast array of golden torches lit with fire. The burial hall was bright with light. Tauriel, walking carefully behind her Elfish brethren, entered the chamber slowly. Her features were bathed in brightness; her pale skin had adopted the pallor of waning flames. Her green gaze glowed with suppressed reverence, refracting the distant glow of fire like an obstructed mirror. She held her head high, ignoring the onslaught of pain wreaking havoc within her heart.

Unlike Legolas and Thranduil, she had decided to traverse Erebor on her own accord; Balin had noticed the sadness looming beneath her impenetrable façade. He had been told of her unwavering kindness toward Kili, aware that her heart had become hindered by grief upon the realization of his death. She had been permitted to mourn alongside the Dwarves.

Legolas removed his hand from his bow, clasping the crook of her elbow in an attempt to display consideration. She gazed at him mournfully. He looked like his father; his pale hair shone incandescently in the darkness. She glanced at Thranduil in the distance, walking brazenly and gracefully across weathered stone. His hand rested along the hilt of a Gondolin blade. He had become a wise monarch, ripe with knowledge and aged pride. She frowned lightly, pulling her arm from Legolas' grasp. They lacked reverence. She wanted them to gain it.

The Dwarves stopped before a wide berth within the chiseled stone of Erebor. An intricately carved monument of stone, wrought from gold and silver ore, towered above the Dwarven Company. It shone brightly, cascading light through the darkness in a shaft of copper. Tauriel shielded her gaze with the back of her hand in an attempt to ward off the glare. The pillar guarded an ancient burial ground, latent with Dwarven treasure. The Dwarves, sniffling and singing quietly, stood immobile at the foot of a smooth, stone tomb. Thorin's original Company kneeled before the carved crypt, fisting their fingers, placing their hands directly above their hearts. Tauriel closed her eyes grievously.

Thorin, clad in silver Mithril and golden chainmail, lay rigidly within the stone tomb. She had noticed his presence within Mirkwood during the Dwarves' detainment in Thranduil's dungeons. He had glared at her from behind gnarled bars. Thorin Oakenshield had possessed the regality of a King; she had seen it in within his gaze, a fiery strength that surpassed Thranduil's façade of indifference. His strength had abandoned him in the end. Thorin's quest for revenge had consumed his heart.

Tauriel watched as Thranduil bowed gracefully before the crypt, unsheathing the Gondolin blade hanging lifelessly from his hip. The blade had belonged to Thorin. Orcrist gleamed in the darkness like starlight, deflecting the remote glow of fire. Tauriel stared at the sword in awe, avidly observing the manner in which Thranduil wielded the Elfish blade. He held Orcrist in front of his face, murmuring sentences in Sindarin quietly under his breath. His features remained icy and apathetic; Tauriel noticed a gleam of fragility ripple from deep within his gaze. She did not know if he was relinquishing his preconceived notions regarding Thorin Oakenshield in exchange for acceptance. She would never truly comprehend his actions.

Thranduil placed the blade across Thorin's chest, turning away from the crypt in an attempt to preserve his dignity. He glided past Tauriel, leaving the Dwarves amid the resonance of fire to mourn in solitude. She lowered her head in regard of his calm countenance, listening to the rustle of his crimson cloak as it curled through the air like a bout of wind. He did not return.

Legolas stirred uneasily beside her; his hand moved across the length of his bow distractedly. She knew that he yearned to follow his father. His icy gaze betrayed his rigid composure. Tauriel nudged his arm lightly; she wanted him to leave the Lonely Mountain despite his persistent need to remain by her side.

Legolas stiffened momentarily, grasping his bow with a renewed vigor. He peered at Tauriel suspiciously. His bitter stare was piercing; he stared into her green gaze avidly, attempting to mollify the sorrow roaring beneath her skin. She shook her head lightly. He could not force her to abandon Erebor. She had witnessed dragon fire amid battle; it had consumed the sky in an attempt to annihilate life and liberty. She knew Legolas harbored an intense desire to domineer her decisions. She would stay despite his agitation.

He looked away in resignation, bowing curtly before the foot of Thorin's tomb; Tauriel was left amid the light of flame as Legolas mirrored his father's footsteps. She carefully walked toward the far side of Thorin's crypt, kneeling gracefully upon the ground in an attempt to convey respect. She did not linger long. Her heart cried out for Kili. She could not define the sensation that flooded through her veins when she thought of his smile; it had darkened like the pallor of a wilting flower. He had captivated her as easily as a mouth entranced with light.

She had felt inclined to humor him when he appeared within Thranduil's dudgeons, cheekily retorting to his bold declarations as if it were a game. She soon discovered that Kili, young and audacious and unusual, had ensnared her heart; Mirkwood dimmed in comparison to the light she had seen within his youthful face. She had been ignorant of the world. Kili had illuminated Middle Earth, kindling intrigue she had abandoned for swordplay when she was a girl. His words had hallowed out her ridged temperament; after the Battle of Five Armies she had sought his comforting countenance. She had been rewarded with death.

She was changed. The stars did not shine as brightly for her as she had once believed. All she could see was darkness. Tauriel slowly turned away from the golden tomb, attempting to maintain her disposition defiantly.

The Dwarves continued to morn Thorin's demise. Their thick-skinned hands trembled within the darkness; the façade each Dwarf struggled to display crumbled like stone. She did not see weakness. For once, both Elf and Dwarf were the same.

Tauriel was truly alone. Kili's tomb loomed in the distance desolately, reflecting the faraway glow of fire in a murky stream of gold. She clenched her hands angrily; he could have lived. She refused to believe he deserved any less than life, for he had been filled with longevity. She had been struck with despair upon realizing the manner in which mortality entangled Man and Dwarf. Kili had been a grain of sand; his life was insignificant in comparison to time. She would remain forever youthful while he would fade, trapped within an inescapable slumber wrought from death.

She stood before a stone crypt; it was inlayed with gold. She could see the crown of his head bathed in candlelight from within the tomb, bright with refracted flame and light. A silver circlet stooped high upon his brow, twisted delicately like a wisp of smoke, trapping his rebellious brown hair between finery as fragile as an aged twig. His skin was pale, reminiscent of the calamity that had befallen his body amid battle. His limbs, garbed in Mithril, shone incandescently in the darkness. Kili looked as though he were sleeping.

She reached out, gingerly cradling his fingers within her spindly hands. She frowned sadly as she slipped her fingers between his own; he had done so in the midst of a sickness, too delirious to rationalize how dangerous his actions had been.

Now there was no one to scrutinize the way their hands fit together like a lock and key. He was immobile and indifferent, gone from reality like a bout of wind released amid a thunderstorm. She wanted to feel his fingers brush against her flesh in reciprocation; she had done so when he had sought out her fingers in a blind stupor. They had switched places; the sensation that gripped her heart hurt like a knife wound. She did not know what to do. She gripped his hand tightly in grief, attempting to hold back an onslaught of tears.

She loved him and he was gone.

"You asked me once if I could have loved you," Tauriel murmured quietly, tightening her hold on his hand. "I know now that I could have. I could have loved you, Kili."

A single tear glided down her cheek as she leaned down and gently pressed her lips against his mouth. She stole a kiss; she would never embrace love again, for it had faded like the starlight she had once watched from within the branches of a tree. She sealed her love away, abandoning the stone crypt like a startled bird, fleeing from his lifeless body in an attempt to properly breathe. Her graceful fingers slipped from his unresponsive grasp. A part of her heart throbbed indignantly; she did not want to leave him amid the darkness. Her mind, filled with anguish, understood that the mountain had ensnared him. The Dwarves belonged within stone. Tauriel belonged nowhere.

She left the mountain in search of a moon once spoken of between caged whispers and crinkled smiles. She did not return to Mirkwood again. She walked amid starlight; she walked in a world where a Dwarf had claimed her heart.

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A/N If you managed to successfully read this One Shot I applaud you! I really enjoyed writing this despite how grievous it is. I thought that The Desolation of Smaug was an enrapturing film; the movie that preceded it needed some help. If you've read The Hobbit, you know what I mean. Follow the source material, Peter Jackson! :P

If you liked my One Shot, leave a review! I would appreciate some feedback! Thanks for reading! The support you all give is epic! :)


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